


Not Quite a Date

by libraryv



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: A Date That Isn't A Date, F/M, Fluff, night out in London
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 14:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20677142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraryv/pseuds/libraryv
Summary: Robin was sitting alone, her shoulders slumped as she looked, dismayed, at her mobile. A wine bottle stood on the table with a basket of untouched bread.Without thinking too hard about what he was doing, Strike followed his own shoes towards the front door of the restaurant.





	Not Quite a Date

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a hell of a Past Few Days. I needed something romantic and soft and comforting. So here it is. :)

Strike lurched gratefully out of the crowded restaurant onto the sidewalk; the muffled noise of nighttime London reaching a new level. He reached into his pocket, lit a cigarette and inhaled; he felt good.

He strode along, his gait only slightly uneven as the West End crowds surged and thinned around him. His meeting with the client had gone well, and the cheque in his pocket had him feeling cautiously cheerful. The leaner periods between cases were growing shorter, and this last one would go a long way.

He caught a flash of golden, strawberry hair; felt the accompanying familiar squeeze in his chest, but as the crowd parted, a closer look revealed that it wasn’t his junior partner.

Strike was in the process of loosening his tie with relish (his top button had been undone with something close to glee) when, looking idly in the window of an Italian place, he saw her. He stopped short, causing a young couple to swerve to the side. He moved a step closer.

Robin was sitting alone, her shoulders slumped as she looked, dismayed, at her mobile. A wine bottle stood on the table with a basket of untouched bread.

Without thinking too hard about what he was doing, Strike followed his own shoes towards the front door of the restaurant, which was swept open with a flourish by a smug staff member.

He waited as the hostess spoke to the small crowd who had taken over the entrance, then nodded at him.

“Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation with us tonight?”

Strike nodded.

“I see my table.”

The hostess smiled, clearly relieved at the quick interaction.

“Enjoy your meal.” She was already making eye contact with the person behind him.

As Strike made his way to the table, Robin looked up, the surprise on her face chased quickly by a warm smile. She stood, and when he reached her, there was a hesitant moment.

“Cormoran! What are you-?”

“I was meeting down the street, saw you sitting here, am I interrupting-?”

“No, no, please stay! Sit.”

They leaned towards each other and she placed her hands awkwardly on his forearms. His lips quickly pressed the air at her cheek.

They sat down, smiling shyly. Silence hovered.

She gestured to his suit and tie.

“You're looking sharp. I see the tie made a bid for freedom.”

“I may have helped it along.”

The joke was weak, but it worked; the tension broke and they grinned at each other. Strike helped himself to a piece of bread.

Robin’s smile loosened and broke. She took a sip of her wine.

“Matthew canceled last minute. Had to stay late for work.”

Hypothetical replies pushed themselves to the front of his brain, none of them civil, all of them unhelpful. Strike determinedly chewed his bread, then said,

“I decided to finally give the John Le Carre paperback on my shelf a go.”

Robin smiled.

“Any good?”

“Nah. Had the whole thing solved long ago.”

She laughed.

“You know, I always liked Poirot. Such dramatic reveals at the end.”

“He became a private detective.”

“I must have a thing for them.”

She smiled playfully, and it was Strike’s turn to laugh.

Robin scanned the menu, then flipped it over decidedly. Strike nodded.

“You look like you’re a woman with a mission.”

“I am. I’m bloody starving. I’ve been sitting here for half an hour and I want pasta.”

“Their d’avolio is pretty good.”

Robin looked amused.

“This isn’t the type of restaurant I picture you frequenting.”

He grinned.

“I do go on a few dates, you know.”

A rosy hue bloomed across Robin’s cheeks, and she reached for a piece of bread.

“I’m glad you happened to be in the neighbourhood, tonight.”

Strike watched her tuck her hair behind her ear and felt a slight ache near his sternum as he said, 

“I am, too.”

The waiter appeared to take their order; the wine glasses were refilled. Robin spoke about the places she wanted to travel to, Strike opened up a bit about his days during army training. They argued good humouredly over the best pasta sauce; they both inadvertently ordered the same dessert.

Strike felt himself grow warm with contentment as they stepped gently and comfortably into new territory. 

Too soon, the dinner ended, and Strike reached for the bill. 

Robin put out her hand on top of his.

“It was to be my night; you don’t need to pay for my failed date.”

“I’m not - I’m happy to pay for our successful one.”

He winked jokingly, but the tender look in her eyes went straight through him. Their hands stayed on the table, her fingers softly resting on his.

The waiter came by, smiling efficiently and reaching for Strike’s card, and the moment was broken. 

XXXXX

For the second time that night, Strike pushed open the door of a busy restaurant. Robin walked through, and Strike followed, returning her smile. They stood on the pavement facing each other; the evening they shared lingering in the air around them.

This time, Robin tilted her face towards him, and this time, it wasn’t awkward. He let his mouth press softly against her warm cheek; not so much a kiss but a gentle caress of his lips. He closed his eyes. 

For a split second, he reveled. A faint floral scent. An impossibly soft strand of spun gold hair caught against her skin. His hand fitting perfectly to the curve of her waist.

A moment of perfect impossibility, then they drew apart, and the cool air rushed in between them.

Robin smiled at him; and it was a Robin-smile he’d never seen before. Suggestive and...thoughtful. 

Then, he was opening the door of the waiting taxi and closing it with a last goodnight, raising his own hand to meet hers as she waved. He turned his collar up against the cold, and began walking back to the station, part of the crowded streets once more.


End file.
